


Barters and Baubles

by circadian_rythm, Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Dirthalene [12]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Demon AU, F/M, Feynite Fanwork, tumblr import
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:10:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: A demon AU, wherein someone who is Very Good And Competent At Her Job Thank You Very Much has a wrench thrown into her life in the form of a Well-Meaning And Kind-Eyed Mortal Who Makes Her Feel Things and the resulting emotional and physical fallout of those complications.





	1. Chapter 1

She is still considered young, the first time an Evanuris summons her. Barely assigned to her diagram long enough to memorize it, before her father barters off the knowledge to balance out his own ledger. An unfortunate casualty of her districts encouragement to throw other demons to the wolves, so long as it keeps your own books clean.

But that’s just how things work, she supposes.

 

The first time Selene steps out of her summoning circle, the lighting is dim. Candles arranged around the corners of the overly spacious room. Whether for ambiance or weapons if things had gone wrong, Selene isn’t sure.

She doesn’t ask.

Mostly, she just waits, while the young woman who summoned her walks a slow circle around her form. Asks for her name, her specialties, her costs.

Selene answers them all. She gives her common name, not her true one, and tells her how she can heal flesh and bone and blood, but not how she can just as easily set them alight with a fire bright enough to blind. That costs vary from cause to cause, but not that taking extra from one person means she can ask less of the next.

That particular piece of information serves Selene well over the years, as the womans family grows.

 

Just flashes of her childrens lives bleed through, though. The woman has twins, and is often too preoccupied with them and her husband to bother summoning Selene. Selene doesn’t complain, because it means she can focus on her own interests in her district and no one will bother her; an empty ledger is still a balanced ledger.

Then the woman has a daughter with a greater taste for adventure than her elder brothers, and another daughter soon after that.

 

When the elder one is seven, her leg gets caught in one of her own traps, and Selene is summoned again.

 

“Heal her.” the woman demands.

Selene kneels down, tail tucked beneath her as she inspects the wound; bloody and torn apart from the struggling. The iron of the trap has snagged into the girls bone, and most of her muscles have been ripped to shreds from her flailing.

 

“You should be wary of making traps this cruel,” Selene whispers to the girl “Often they will be your own undoing.”

The girl just gives her a dirty look, and sniffs indignantly in return.

 

Selene stands, and crosses her arms over her chest after finishing her inspection. “How badly does she need the leg?”

“What sort of a question is that?” Sneers the girl.

“An honest one?” Selene shrugs, still staring at the mother. “I can seal off the wound for a low cost, and take the remains of her leg as payment, that way she learns to pay for her mistakes herself. Or, I can repair the leg entirely for a steeper cost overall.”

“I  _need_  my leg mother,” Pushes the girl through her tears.

 

The woman pauses, and carefully considers the given options.

 

“ _Mother!_ ” Screams the girl, clearly distraught that this was not a clear cut decision for the both of them.

 

“Do not yell so much Andruil, it is unseemly,” The woman dismisses. “What would the price be to save her leg?”

 

Selene glances around their surroundings. Searching for something of value, something that would still register as a loss to the girl, but a gain in Selenes books.

Ah, she realizes, eyes landing on the hart, saddled down with supplies and weapons and yet more traps ready to be laid.

Selene raises a single finger towards it. “That will make an adequate payment for the service and flesh.”

The woman turns to the hart, and then to her daughter, and nods.

“The hart is purebred, but will still be simpler to replace than the leg. You may take it, and save the limb.”

 

Selene bends down, and waves her hand over the injury. Magic floods into the young girl as metal pulls away from bone and sinew, tendons fall back into place, and skin stitches seamlessly into skin until not even a scar remains.

The girl pokes and prods at it curiously before standing and dusting herself off. A glance back to her steed.

 

“What’re you gonna do to Buttercup?” She asks quietly.

“Skin her, flail her and eat her,” Selene lies. “Maybe trade her for parts. It’s none of your concern, now.”

“But she’s mine!”

“Then think before you act, the next time you wish to be cruel,” Selene advises, taking the hart by its reigns and leading it back towards her summoning circle. “Or you will lose much more than your favorite pet.”

The girl is sniffling again, complaining about how hard she had worked to raise the beast, and trying not to cry when Selene vanishes back to her own realm with the hart.

 

 

 

Selene is…not actually sure what to  _do_  with the creature, now that she has it. She’s not particularly gifted with animals, and certainly has no interest in hurting one. It was simply the most suitable thing for payment in the given situation.

Maybe she can trade it down in the market for something more useful in the evening.

 

The hart sneezes, and stomps lightly at the ash covered ground, head shaking as one of its horns knocks painfully against Selenes.

…Perhaps sooner would be better than later.

–

 

The next time Selene is summoned, the woman isn’t around. But the youngest daughter is, still a young thing, freshly entered into her teen years.

“I need help,” she huffs, fluffing her hair up in front of the mirror.

 

“There will be a cost,” Selene advises as she takes in her surroundings. Bright, bold colors, freshly painted around the room. High end furniture, and higher thread count sheets. An impressive haul for a thirteen year old, really.

“Yes,  _fine_ , take my horse or whatever you need, just help me first.”

 

Selene strides towards the young girl, tail flicking curiously behind her as she looks her up and down. “You don’t appear injured.”

The young girl lets out a frustrated huff “I’m not _injured_ , I’m hideous! But you’re like a magical doctor or something, right? Our stupid dermatologist gave me a cream that’s supposed to help get rid of these monstrosities,” she explains while pointing out large red bumps speckled across her face “But I have places to be tonight and these are most certainly  _not_  invited. Get rid of them.”

 

Selene blinks. “You summoned me to cure your acne?”

“Is that not a good enough reason? Do I have to wish death or vengeance or something on someone else too?”

“No, no, this is fine,” Selene assures her. She makes a sweeping gesture towards the young girls bed “Have a seat.”

 

The girl ( _Sylaise_ , she insists when Selene keeps calling her girl) follows the instructions and closes her eyes as Selenes hand trail carefully up and then back down from her face.

A simple enough spell, really, but the young woman is thrilled with the results when Selene hands her a mirror.

 

Selene is humming her way through the girls jewelry box when Sylaise pipes up again.

“Are you any good at winged eyeliner and complex braids?”

–

It’s a good system, for years. Sylaise summons Selene when she needs a particularly complicated look, or has something she deems an emergency, and Selene gets to take back whole handfuls of gems and jewels.   
There’s no shortage of demons looking for shiny, valuable trinkets, and trading them makes enough that Selene is able to get a spot of land for herself before long.

It’s like a breath of fresh air, when she’s finally out from under her fathers thumb.

 

Then a few more years go by, and Selene settles comfortably into her new home, wondering what happened to the family above.

Her answer comes on the eve of Sylaise’s wedding.

 

“Congratulations,” Selene drawls with an eyebrow raise as she steps out of her circle. The dress is hanging over the closet door, while Sylaise paces back and forth across the floor.

“Yes, yes, it’s all fine and dandy, but it’s going  _too_  well. I need you to check on things.”

“What precisely do you mean by ‘check on’ things?”

“See if he’s cheating! Lying! Plotting some terrible scheme!” Sylaise explains, throwing her hands up as though her meaning should have been obvious.

“If you don’t trust him, has it occurred to you that marriage is a bad idea?”

“Of course I trust him!” She snaps. “But my mother was here and now I’ve got all these….”

“Doubts?” Selene finishes.

 

Sylaise nods, long manicured nails digging deep into her palms.

Selene sighs. “It’ll cost more.”

“Fine.”

 

Selene nods in acceptance and takes a step towards the girl “Do you have anything of his?”

Sylaise hesitates, before handing over a small kinetic device. “Will this do?”

Selene nods before her face splits into a grin. “Back in a flash.”

 

Stepping through the spaces between is always a bit disorienting, but Selene manages to shake it off easily enough. Another child from a well to do family, she notes as she looks around the expansive living room.

There’s an older man on the couch, staring at her.

“Hello,” he greets.

Selene just nods before vanishing up the stairs; he’s not her target.

But the one bent over a set of complex blueprints is.

 

The vanishing spell is easy enough to do, as she moves silently behind him. Her hands gently glide over his head, sifting through memories, ideas, searching for signs of Sylaise.

But there’s nothing malicious, not towards her at least. A wish to be as happy as his parents were, with a less tragic ending, really, but Selene can’t hold that against him.

She leaves as silently as she arrived.

 

“He loves you,” Selene shrugs upon her return, reclining on Sylaise’s bed. It’s quite comfortable, really.

Sylaise visibly relaxes at the news. “Oh. Oh, that’s…Oh.”

“Is that bad news?”

“No. No, certainly not. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s not a wedding gift. You’ll still have to pay me.”

“Of course,” Sylaise nods.

 

Selene glances around the room. Something more valuable than her usual payment, but Sylaise doesn’t attach herself to things very often, despite her obsession with them. Everything is temporary, and fleeting. Gone as easily as it came.

Selenes eyes settle on an overly garish set of jewelry displayed on Sylaise’s vanity.

 

“Your wedding jewelry will be an adequate payment.”

Sylaise frowns at that “Can’t you take something else?”

“No.” Selene lies. “Is there a problem?”

“They…they were a gift.”

“All of your things were gifts.”

“No, they’re from June. They were his mothers. They’re hideous, but they mean a lot to him.”

“And to you. That’s the point.”

 

Sylaise frowns, having doubts as she stares at the ornate patterns swirling across the pendant.

 

“I’ll wait until after the wedding to take them,” Selene allows. “ _That_ will be my gift to you.”

She steps back into her circle before Sylaise can try to argue further.

 

Selene keeps the jewelry tucked beneath her bed, after she takes it from their honeymoon.

–

Selene never saw the twins as they grew up. Whether their mother thought she wasn’t necessary (A wise decision) or that they weren’t worth the cost, she’s not sure.

But she meets the eldest son when he’s already grown, one night, alone in his chambers.

 

“So do you do, like, succubus shit?”

 

Selene immediately dislikes him the most.

 

“No,” she lies. It is, technically, in her repertoire. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, that’s a fucking waste.” he leers.

“Sure. I can go then?”

“Can you make other people do succubus shit?”

 

Selenes eyes narrow “No,” she lies again.

“Well what the fuck do you do?”

“I heal, I do makeup, and I eat horses, if the rest of your family is to be listened to.”

He smirks “I’ve got a horse-sized dick you can ea-”

“ _If you finish that sentence, I will tear your tongue from your mouth as payment for assaulting my ears with it._ ”

 

“Well fine, shit.”

 

Selene shakes her head, and strides back towards her circle to go home when he pipes up again with “Can you get me a really great high?”

Her eyebrow raises.

Well.

There’s an interesting idea.

–

 

 

Selene doesn’t give him any of the interesting drugs from her home, in the end. Transporting them between realms is a load of paperwork she hates doing, and there’s nothing he could give her that would be worth the trouble. Instead, she gives him the knowledge of how much he’s getting overcharged for the stuff he’s already buying, and where to go for something purer.

It gives him something to focus on other than her, and that’s enough for her to go back through her circle to her home with a picture of an old significant other.

 

The next time she’s summoned, it’s the younger twin on the other side.

Dirthamen.

Face swollen and bloodied, hand barely tapping her circle to give the necessary blood for her summoning.

 

Selene doesn’t bother leaving the circle, just bends down and takes his face in her hands to help with the swelling. Heals his jaw, so that he can speak again. Watches as his cheeks recede, no longer puffed and hard, back down to where his body says they’re supposed to be.

Watches as his eyelids heal, revealing two bright blue eyes staring back at her in…gratefulness.

That’s a new one.

 

“What happened?” she asks, finger running down the side of his face to check for any other injuries.

“I upset Falon'din,” he answers simply.

“Falo-Your  _brother_  did this to you?”

“You sound surprised. I would think that sort of thing would not be so terrible to a demon.”

“Family is still supposed to mean something,” Selene whispers. “Where else are you hurt?”

 

Dirthamen struggles to sit up, and Selene carefully heals over his rib cage, fixes his twisted ankle and clears the bruises from his too pale body.

 

“Thank you,” He murmurs. “What do I owe you?”

“Why didn’t you fight back?” She asks, instead of answering.

He blinks and pauses in his walk back to his bed. “In my experience, it only makes things worse.”

“Worse than nearly dying?”

He hesitates at that. “Perhaps it has gotten a bit out of hand.”

“Sure. 'A bit’.” Selene scoffs.

“What would you have done?” He asks.

 

“Me?” Selene repeats. “I…Well, where I’m from it would be license to kill him, or to tear off a piece to keep for myself, at least. Fights aren’t unheard of between demons, but they’re often fatal and therefore a level of escalation. It depends on your district, really. Some leaders teach forgiveness, some would rather we fought it out in a cage where only the strongest walks back out and didn’t bother them with our problems.”

 

“I see. I do not think I would make a very good demon, in that case.”

Selene laughs “No, you wouldn’t. “

 

Dirthamen smiles, just a bit, at her laugh. “Your horns are…very sharp.”

“They’d be a bit useless otherwise, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

Silence falls over them as Selene glances around his room, searching for a suitable payment.

“May I touch them?” Dirthamen asks.

 

She pauses in her search, and looks down at the elven man. No weapons on him, and people in this realm can’t cast magic, so there’s no danger to the act.

 

“Sure,” She nods, kneeling down beside his bed, tilting her head towards him, so that he has a clear view of them. Long and curled and sharp enough to impale at the ends.

But he touches them as though they are delicate. Like porcelain that could shatter if he is not gentle enough, rather than pieces of her that could skewer him if she chose to. It’s a sort of kindness she hasn’t encountered before, and it makes her shiver in a strangely pleasing way. 

 

His fascination and curiosity keep his fingers and attention on her. 

Her reluctance to pull away from the caresses keeps her there far longer than she means to stay.

 

When a very particular sort of warmth begins to settle in her stomach, Selene clears her throat, snapping Dirthamen out of his reverie.

She stands, pushing down her bodies reaction to touch as she looks for a suitable form of payment.

 

“Thank you,” He smiles softly, rubbing the tips of his fingers together as though trying to replicate the texture himself.

“That’s-”Selene shakes her head. “Nothing is free. You’ll have to pay me for that as well you know.”

“I understand.”

 

Selene sighs, rubbing at the back of her head while her search for payment comes up empty.

 

“Is something wrong?” Dirthamen asks after several minutes of her digging through his room.

“You don’t have any suitable payment,” Selene mutters.

 

“Does it have to be material?”

“No,” Selene admits “But it’s usually safer that way. You’ll have to make something for me.”

“I am not good at crafts.”

“But it’s words that you fear,” Selene notes with a soft hum.

 

Dirthamen swallows.

 

“Write me a letter.” Selene finally decides.

“About what?”

“Whatever you’d like it to be about. The more personal, the better. If the first one is not sufficient, I’ll ask for another, so you may want to try to get it right the first time. I charge interest, you know.”

 

He hesitates. “Should I…do you have a mailing address?”

Selene snorts “No. Summon me again when you think it’s done, and I’ll let you know if it’s sufficient payment or not. If you take more than three nights though, I’ll be back on my own, and very cross about it.”

 

Dirthamen nods in understanding, and moves to the large desk sitting in the corner of his room.

Selene glances at him one last time, to ensure his wounds are suitably healed, before striding back to her summoning circle and into her home.

 

She glances around the cold, undecorated space, and gingerly rubs at the base of her horns.

An interesting night on several accounts, it seems.


	2. Chapter 2

Selene’s choice of location for her home was questioned by…well, lots of people, really. She’s dangerously close to a local magma flow, and the heat is more than most of her kind is comfortable around.

But Selene’s never been bothered by the extra warmth, and the soil is incredibly rich from past centuries of run off and nutrients growing beneath the surface. A few snips from her fathers garden were more than enough to grow her own, now flourishing, plot of land.

Fruits, flowers, herbs; none of these things are required for her, but there’s no shortage of demons seeking them in District Three. Many keep themselves preoccupied with distractions of the ‘finer things’.

Selene doesn’t mind putting in the work to turn some extra profits for herself, or to keep more than a few favors in her back pocket.

 

This morning though, it’s time for her to finally harvest the grapes from her vineyard. After years of pruning and slicing away blooms to get the perfect fruit, she’s finally got a fully ripened acre of her own to pluck and transform into wine that she can sell for a truly exorbitant amount to someone else for another century or five of comfort before she has to start over again.

Which is why she loses her cool rather quickly, when she spies the thief in her orchard.

 

“HEY!” she screams, dropping her basket and sprinting towards the guilty party, bags slung over their shoulders, one almost stuffed full of  _her_  grapes.

 

“Oh  _shi-_ ” they hiss, trying to make a run for it.

Too slow.

 

Selene tackles them to the ground, stomach dropping at the telling 'squish’ beneath them. Bunches ruined, already.

She’s going to  **kill** this asshole.

 

“Selene,” coos the thief, trying to calm her temper. “Sweetie, darling! It’s been so long. How have you been?”

“Tending to my grapes,” she growls back as she stands. She lifts the younger woman by the collar until her feet are dangling off the ground. “Grapes that you seem to think are  _yours_ , Daru. I thought you were smarter than to try to steal from me.”

 

“I am! I mean-Oh, uh, are these your grapes?” She grins sheepishly. “I was just-I was-trying to help you! With the-the harvest! There were just  _so many,_  and I know how you value your time! I just thought I’d help you out with….”she trails off, voice quieting down to a whisper beneath Selenes unwavering stare. “…with that.”

 

“Give me your bag, then.” Selene demands, holding out her free hand expectantly.

 

Daru hesitates. “I…..can’t.”

“And why’s that?” Selene manages through clenched teeth as her temper begins to rise again.

“I need these, to pay off my own debts! I can’t get to the surface anymore, and I need  _something,_ or the collector will have my head!”

“That’s not actually my problem.”

“Come on Selene,” Daru pleads “I know you’re still soft, beneath the facade. We all do! Let me have these, so I can stay alive. I’ll help you with the next batch, I promise!”

“You’ll just steal from that one too, if I let you.”

 

“I… _proooobably_  won’t?” Daru shrugs, legs swinging awkwardly beneath her.

 

Selene sighs and shakes her head. Daru  _did_  use to be a good coworker, before she made too many bad deals topside and lost her privileges. But if she’s at the point where she’s willing to steal already, there’s not anything Selene can do to help her. If she just gives it away, she’ll have a surplus of her own, which means having to take from someone else and she’s just not interested in the extra work.

Plus, Daru being here with that sort of negative balance is going to attract unwanted attention, and Selene likes her privacy, thank you very much.

 

Of course, that’s when the air around them goes cold, the heat from the nearby magma river like a distant memory as a small, round elf appears before the pair, with a large grin on his face.

“Hello hello,” he greets. “How are you two fine ladies doing today?”

 

Selene hesitates. She _knows_  this man. They all do; he’s the debt collector for District Three.

Harellas.

 

And as much as she wants Daru to not be her problem right now, there’s still a part of her hesitating to do something as cruel as handing her over to a collector.

 

“We’re….fine.” Selene finally answers.

“Good, good,” Harellas nods. He holds out both of his hands, small and pointy, fingers skittering through the air as though he were still in his raccoon form and just found some particularly tasty trash. “I’ll just be taking Daru, and be on my way then.”

 

Daru’s eyes meet Selenes pleadingly. No one  _wants_  to go with a collector. It means torture, it means cruelty, it means paying off your debts in whatever manner they choose until  _they_  decide you’re free to go.

No one’s ever  _really_  free to go.

Even parole is rare.

 

“She…” Selene sighs, placing Daru down on the ground instead of into Harellas’s grip. “She was just striking a deal with me. To help me with my harvests, and pay back some of her debt.”

Daru nods enthusiastically, moving to stand behind Selene, and to place more space between herself and the collector.

 

“Now now, she’s had plenty of time to do just that, and a leopard don’t change its spots,” Harellas points out. “I like you just fine you know, Selene. You keep your books clean, and stay out of trouble. You don’t need her tying you down and bringing all sorts of mayhem to your door. Just hand her over, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“She just needs a little more time. I know you can afford to give her another week, Harellas. You’re great at your job, and you always stay ahead of the curve,” Selene extols.

 

Harellas crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back and pretending to be less flattered than he actually is. “Weeeelll…well, maybe,  _maybe_ I can give her another week. But time ain’t free either, y'know.”

 

Selene knows.

Nothing around here is ever free.

 

“What’ll it cost?” Daru whispers from behind her, and Selene mentally groans. This is probably why she was so bad topside. You don’t ask for a price, you just _make an offer_.

 

But it’s too late now. Harellas’s face splits into a grin and he steps up to the two of them looking far, far too pleased with himself. “Why, just some good ol’ fashioned entertainment.”

 

His fingers snap, and Selene lets out a long string of curses as she lands in the middle of the large, rounded arena.

She fucking hates her district sometimes.

 

Harellas appears in the front row of one of the stands, a crowd already gathered to watch the fight. Selene barely has time to ground herself and her magic before his fingers snap again, and a swarm of Gibbering Horrors are released from one of the walls, hissing and running around as their jaws snap threateningly in the air.

 

The crowd is yelling, a cheer erupting as Selene jumps over one, sending it crashing into another. No time for her to stop and cater to them though; another horror screams and sprints towards her, long legs bounding against the dirt and ash covered ground. Its jaw opens wide, teeth gleaming in the light before Selene throws a fireball towards it and sends it slamming into the opposite wall.

Another roar erupts from the crowd, bets being tossed around while Selene slings yet another horror over her shoulder, skittering through the rising fog of ash.

For a brief moment, her eyes connect with those of Harellas, with his too sharp teeth and too pleased smile as he watches the battle unfold.

  
As a horror catches her in the arm, a quiet sympathetic “Ooooh…” comes from one side of the crowd and Selene winces in pain. She coats her other hand in flame, tearing the creature off as a large chunk of her flesh goes with it.

 

The pain is blinding, and she sends out a few random defensive sparks while she focuses on stopping the rush of blood. Not enough time to stop for proper healing though, as the onslaught continues, wave after wave of creature leaping for her.

The smell of burning leather begins to fill the arena as the creatures are struck down one by one, taking their own shares of blood and skin and leaving her with few unharmed portions of her body. Still, she pushes through until only one remains. 

Pulling on the rest of her strength, she lunges for it, hand outstretched and aflame and ready to make the killing blow before a too-familiar tugging pulls at her. 

 

Still too high on adrenaline, Selene arrives in Dirthamens living room screaming and bloody and ready to strike.

 

At Him, with his placating gesture while he takes a slow, steady step back.

She stops before she hits his throat, wide eyes staring back at her.

He blinks.

“Are you alright?”

 

Selene pauses, before her hand drops down, flames dying out quickly now that the danger is gone.

“I’ve been better,” she murmurs.

 

“You are bleeding,” he points out, eyes darting between her wounds and his carpet.

“That happens during a fight.”

 

Dirthamen nods slowly. “Do you…should I take you to a hospital?”

“No,” Selene sighs, plopping down and slowly working her healing over her own wounds. The carpet is surprisingly comfortable, and it smells like something good is cooking in the kitchen. There’s a bottle of wine breathing on the counter, and Selene almost laughs at the sight of it. “Expecting someone?”

 

He hesitates, a word dying on his lips before he changes the subject. “I…wrote the letter. Why were you in a fight?”

 

“I made the mistake of sticking up for an old coworker,” Selene says, holding out on hand expectantly.

 

Dirthamen runs off into what she assumes is his bedroom for a moment, before coming back out with an envelope. He promptly places it into her palm, eyes still glancing over her wounds. “I did not know demons did that sort of thing.”

 

“What, fight? I told you we did the last time.”

 

“Stick up for one another.”

 

Selene blinks and looks up at him. “Oh,” she responds lamely. “Well, normally we don’t. I just made a bad decision, and this is how that price was paid.”

 

He nods again, and Selene stands. Covered in dirt and ash and mostly dried blood now, she thinks she must be a mess.  
Not that that matters.

Except that she feels uncomfortable, beneath the grime and the sweat, of course.

 

She distracts herself, and reads over his letter. He mentions his brother, and his family, and his work and…other things she already knew, and nothing really below the surface enough to count.

“You’ll have to try again,” she tells him.

 

He frowns “That was a very personal letter.”

 

“No. This is what you  _think_  is supposed to be in a personal letter. But there’s nothing in here about you. Nothing personal to your own life and experiences. You’ll have to try again.”

 

Dirthamens mouth twitches, but he nods once more. “Would you…like to use my shower?”

 

Selenes eyes narrow. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“What do you get out of me showering?”

“Mostly, I do not want you staining my carpet any further,” He answers, nodding to the red spots and the considerably darker circle of carpet beneath her.

 

“…Oh.” She acquiesces sheepishly.

“The good one is through my bedroom, to the left,” he instructs.

 

Selene nods, and makes her way towards his shower, trying not to ruin the rest of his apartment as she goes.

–

 

She emerges nearly forty minutes later, feeling cleaner and more refreshed than she has in some time. She’s running a towel through her still damp hair when she steps back into his living room.

His fork clanks loudly when he spots her, landing on the edge of the counter. He fumbles, trying to grab it again and quiet the noise, but only succeeds in dropping it to the floor where it clatters once more.

 

“You are wearing a towel,” he notes.

 

Selene blinks and looks down at herself, the one white cotton cloth wrapped around her torso.

Right.

Nudity is a thing here.

“I didn’t know if I could wear any of your clothing,” she lies.

 

“You…may, if you would like to,” he speaks slowly, swallowing as his fingers rub against the edge of his sleeve.

 

Nodding, Selene excuses herself back into his room and snags a long button down from his closet to dress herself in. None of his pants are quite wide enough to accommodate her hips, so she supposes he’ll just have to deal with having a partially naked demon in his apartment for the time being.

 

He swallows nervously again when she steps back out, fluffing her hair out of the collar as she moves towards him “Have you written your next letter yet, then?”

“No, I suspect I will need at least another night to do so.”

Selene frowns, but nods understandingly “I’ll keep the shirt as payment for the summoning then.”

 

“You could stay for dinner,” he blurts. “If you eat, that is. Do demons eat? The texts I read were unclear on the subject.”

“We eat for pleasure, not for sustenance. But…” she stares off into his kitchen, from which the smell of warm, well seasoned meat is still emanating. “I could eat, if you’re offering.”

He grins slightly, ears pointing up just a bit more as he excuses himself to the kitchen for dishes and drinks, and gestures for her to take a seat at his dining table. 

Which is apparently new, she notes.

 

Interesting.

 

Dinner goes smoothly. It turns out to be take-out, but it’s tasty enough that Selene doesn’t mind. Dirthamen asks her questions about her home, and about herself, and she answers the ones she’s allowed to. He’s surprisingly curious, she thinks. No one else in his family cared to ask about anything other than what she could do for them.

It’s a nice change.

 

She’s helping him carry the dishes to the sink when her eyes land on a stack of papers on his coffee table.

One of them is  _enchanted_.

 

Curious, due to the limited amount of ways that could have happened, Selene picks up the stack and glances quickly through them.

 

“You should not be looking at those,” Dirthamen advises, reaching to take them from her. “They are sensitive to our family business.”

_Ah_ , Selene thinks as she ignores his warning and discovers where the enchantment is from.  _Interesting._

 

“Let me guess,” She drawls “Money is missing where it shouldn’t be, but no matter how you work the numbers, you can’t seem to find it?”

Dirthamen blinks. “How did you know that?”

 

Selene grins and holds up his spreadsheet “Someone in your company is skimming from the top with a demon of their own.”

“That…is that possible?”

 

“Sure,” Selene shrugs “My friend Des does this sort of spell all the time. Lots of people in this realm want money, and a quick glamour over the budget of big businesses makes it easy to hide. You can make up the missing -what, $20,000 a year it looks like?- without any real trouble. And you won’t report it, because inviting someone to look at your books means they’ll want to look at  _all_  the books, including the ones on the less than legal side of things. And  _that_  would cost you a whole lot more than the $20,000 a year.”

 

“Why do they not simply create the money instead?”

 

“Everything comes from somewhere,” Selene shrugs. “Taking it from smaller organizations would be too high a price; people get fired, starve, die. All of that has to be taken into consideration. Someone with a business as large as your families misses the same amount of money and there’s no change at all to your day to day life. Less risk on our end, and since only other demons -or potentially angels I suppose, but let’s be honest your family doesn’t have a drop of true faith between them- would even notice. These things just get swept under the rug, and everyone goes home happy.”

 

“You can see them, though. You know who cast the glamour, and subsequently who is stealing from us.”

“Yep,” Selene nods, propping herself up on the counter and popping the P.

 

“Could you tell me?”

Selene raises an eyebrow “You still haven’t paid off your first debt to me. Why would I take on the ire of the demon who cast it, with no promise of payoff from your end?”

“I…suppose that is a valid concern.”

 

Her nails tap against the granite counter top as she stares at him. Just a bit disappointed, and trying to puzzle out a way to get the information anyways. It’s strangely endearing, watching a mortal trying to work the system to their advantage.

He’ll need much more experience before he can. 

A shame.

 

…

… _Although_.

Having connections in this realm could be hugely beneficial to her. And he’s clearly interested in her way of life, so he certainly wouldn’t be against making more deals with her.

He’s definitely smart enough. With a little extra knowledge, some pieces moved to show what the finished puzzle is  _supposed_  to look like….

 

Selene leans forward, hands carefully wrapping around his chin to pull his face close to hers. “Do you really want to know?” She breathes.

 

He swallows, nodding as best he can with her hand still keeping him near.

 

“Then write your letter,” She grins before releasing him. She jumps down from the counter, sauntering back towards her circle and feeling his eyes heavy on her back as the hem of his shirt sways just beneath the curve of her ass.

With a quick wink, she portals back to her home. Thankful to see it empty.

 

This could be promising.

She’ll have to find reasons to visit more often.


	3. Chapter 3

Taking a life requires an equal payment in return.

In the grand scheme of things it does not put a dent in Melarue’s ledger in the slightest, not enough to warrant much attention, but it is enough to set them on edge. A little hollow feeling in their chest, that lasts for several weeks while they devise a plan to thrust the debt onto someone else.

Being a Lord of Hell means they can do as they will, and the fastest way to fix the imbalance is to spread it out into the ledgers of others in their Precinct.

Or…

They glance over at where Anaris has sprawled himself over half their desk. Sometimes they think he’s gotten far too comfortable in his current form. They know he’d like nothing more than to have his old shape back, but he hasn’t complained about the present one for a while.

They reach out unconsciously and begin scratching just behind his ears.

“I’m not an actual cat,” Anaris reminds them, pressing the top of his head against their palm. “I don’t appreciate the condescension.”

“My lack of respect for you has nothing to do with you looking like this,” Melarue chides, scratching his ears, “And everything to do with your inability to properly maintain your ledger.”

Anaris, despite the glare in his eyes, begins to purr. “It isn’t my fault mortals love to bargain. It’s so much fun, to watch them try and make deals to save themselves.”

“It  _is_ your fault that you let them win so many times,” Melarue responds.

Anaris rolls his shoulders in a feline equivalent of a shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”

Melarue lets the debt sink into Anaris, hears his purr stutter as he notices something change, even though he doesn’t know what, exactly. It is unfortunately but this is business. Anaris is a scapegoat, and Anaris cannot control what happens with his debt here and now, not when he has sunk so low and is in the process of working off so much of it.

It’s just one extra death on his ledger, after all. He’ll hardly notice.

They almost feel guilty about it. Almost.

But they don’t have time to think further on the twinge of a conscience, as the door to their office opens and Treachery walks inside, carrying a box covered in a mixture of magical runes and mundane looking information labels, whistling a tune they vaguely recognize.

The box gets placed on the coffee table, but the whistling continues as he saunters over to their desk, eyes glinting from behind a pair of stylish glasses.

“Hello kitty,” Treachery coos, reaching down to scratch his chin. He pulls up as Anaris hisses and swipes at him with his claws before darting off the desk and toward the small office lounge. Treachery’s grin widens at the attack, showing off a pair of long fangs, before he turns back to Melarue. “I have the record of the current debt standings of the Precinct like you asked. I sent them to your tablet.”

Melarue nods absently, glancing through another set of documents with a sigh. So much to do…and all before that horrid meeting tomorrow.

Meetings between the Lords are always a balancing act between civility and murderous rage. Sometimes it devolves to the latter, and it’s an awful mess afterwards. Melarue holds very few of their fellow Lords in any sort of esteem, and finds most of them properly revolting.

_I can think of at least seventeen things I’d rather do than go to that meeting tomorrow,_  they muse to themselves,  _and one of them involves experiencing a lobotomy._  Unfortunately these meetings need to be had, in the grand scheme of things. Power balances only last when all parties are participating, after all.

Treachery braces his hip against the edge of their desk and glances down at his reflection in the polished surface before he turns his gaze toward them again, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I heard there might be a vote.”

Melarue looks up from perusing the listings Treachery has just sent them with an air of boredom. “My my, rumors really do spread like wildfire.”

“Quite a few rumors,” Treachery agrees, “About Lord Belomar being weak and feeble, and riddled with hidden debt. It would be terrible if they were true, don’t you think? Especially if the Lords vote for a Rite of Challenge.”

Anaris’ ears perk up as he glances over from where he’s curled up on a nearby couch. Belomar was his old Lord, back when he was a high-ranking demon. 

The one who had sold him and his debt to Melarue.

Belomar had never been good with managing his Precinct. A high-ranking demon in debt, with nowhere to disperse the loss is a bad situation, especially for a Lord whose own ledger is failing due to trying to balance his district. He’d practically gift-wrapped Anaris before handing him—and his debt—to Melarue.

It’s a pity that the reprieve he’d gained has only lasted 500 years.  

Melarue smirks, “And if the Rite of Challenge were allowed would you run off to try your hand at becoming a Lord?”

Treachery shrugs, “The position of Lord is too dangerous. So many complications, and the threat of assassination by lesser demons, especially the desperate ones that think they can end their debt forever by doing so. Not my cup of tea. No, I’ll stay here as the second most powerful demon in the 5th Precinct, thank you.”

It is a popular story, that if a demon manages to fell a Lord their debt will be wiped clean and they’ll take over the mantle. The actual process, of course, is much more complex. Only the Lords can decide if another Lord is to be replaced…and it must be a majority that agrees to a Rite of Challenge in which demons can fight the Lord in question for their position.

Rites of Challenge are bloody and brutal, and often end with the challenged Lord reigning victorious again…and bad blood between the Lords for centuries afterward.  Lords do not have their position because it was given, but earned. They are the most powerful and bloodthirsty and vicious, and in order to gain the strength needed to fell one, even a weakened one…the difference in power between a Lord and a high-ranking demon is vast, let alone between a Lord and the general populace.

Usually the only way a demon can overcome a Lord is with the help of another Lord in some way. It is an underhanded, rotten affair to its very core.

Melarue doesn’t particularly enjoy them. They’ve seen plenty, and seen Old Lords fall to be replaced by new. 

They have made certain to keep their own image cold, cunning, and efficient. A few public displays every now and then does the trick well enough, and their reputation is one that makes demons think twice before suggesting a change is in order. Besides that, there is also the matter of their connections to Sariandi, and his own hold over many other Lords that makes a Rite of Challenge nearly impossible.

It is the complacent Lords that end up with demons that question their rule.

The truly cruel and heartless, like Sariandi, rule by fear. No demon will ever speak up and question him. No one would have the gall to announce publicly their belief that he is not fit. And the truly efficient and cunning, like Melarue, and Vitality, make certain there is no room for questions, and keep their own populace content enough that they don’t see a  _need_  to question. Fair by the laws of Hell, and always involved in their Precincts so that it seems they have eyes everywhere.

It is the complacent and lazy that find themselves challenged. Those that let their Precincts run without regard for the structure of it, content to enjoy themselves while other demons toil, who think their position protects them, rather than makes them a target.

“But there is a meeting of the Lords tomorrow,” Treachery continues, smiling.

“There is,” Melarue agrees.

“I suppose that’s all I’ll get out of you.” Treachery sighs, “I’m the last Collector to ever know the inner mind of his Lord. It’s almost like you don’t trust me, and that stings.” He pats his chest, where his heart  _should_  be, if Melarue thought for a moment he possessed one, “Right here.”

“I don’t tell you anything because you’re intelligent enough to find out the information yourself. In most cases I wager you learn it before I do. And you’re a fool to think any Lord is naive enough to trust the demon closest to their throne,” Melarue scoffs. “I trust two people in this world, Treachery. One of them is myself, and the others is certainly not you.”

Treachery’s grin widens, “Touché.” He absently pulls out a small device and points it just in front of Anaris. Anaris stares him down, before Treachery flicks the laser pointer on, and Anaris gives a loud hiss, followed by several expletives and threats about what he’ll do once he gets his body back, before he leaps off of the couch and out the door.

“Once he regains his form he’s going to challenge you for the position of Collector, and I’ll let him do it.” Melarue drawls, as they go back to their files.

Treachery snickers, “Anaris would be a terrible Collector, you’d never allow it.”

“I still might let him kill you,” Melarue quips, reaching for their wine glass, “Just to see the look on your face.”

“It warms me to know you value me so much,” Treachery sighs.

“How is my son?” Melarue asks, taking a sip. A nice vintage, thought they can’t remember the exact year.

“A pretty peacock,” Treachery shrugs, “He’s fine. You’d know if he were in any danger, I don’t know why you have me keeping an eye on him. How old is he now? He doesn’t need a sitter.”

“Do you remember what happened to Gallia’s son, before Sariandi slew her and took her mantle of Lord?”

Treachery winces at the memory, “Point taken. Though I don’t think anyone would be foolish enough to attack Aelynthi.” A shake of the head, and a fond smile, “He’d give them a verbal flaying before they bared their fangs.”

Melarue knows. They made him strong for that very reason. Made him quick to react and quicker to assume the worst in everyone. They wish they could have raised him to live a kinder life…but they needed to raise him to survive this one first.

He was not meant to live.

They could not keep all their promises to his mother and father, but this one they can.

He will live. And he will thrive. And one day, perhaps, he will leave.

But he will live.

—

It would be nice, they think, if they could get through this meeting without having to actually  _talk_ to anyone. A hollow wish, meetings tend to involve talking, but at least they’ve had a nice glass of wine before all this.

They’ll need a second one once it’s done. Perhaps a third.

They nod at a few other Lords as they head toward their seat, a smile for one, a snarl for the next, a wink or a glare depending on who meets their eyes. The air in the room is tense, as always, but hidden beneath a veneer of professional amiability.

The weather outside, at least, is pleasant enough. It’s difficult to get the look of sunlight just right in hell. A waste of magic, but one Melarue isn’t going to complain about. Looking out at whatever hellscape the Spire has placed itself in this time while listening to powerful demons threaten one another would be twice as depressing.

At least this way they have a bit of blue sky to look at, even if it  _is_  just a glamour.

“My dear Melarue.”

Ah, the last person they wanted to see, and the only one they can’t avoid.

Sariandi, Lord of the 1st Precinct of Hell, is quite handsome when he tries. A smart looking suit nearly the same color as the artificial sky on the other side of the windowpanes and a pair of white, square-framed glasses cut a smart figure.

But they’ve seen too many of his other shapes and forms before, the not-so-handsome ones, to think him as attractive as they once did.

“Sariandi,” Melarue greets in turn, expression carefully blank.

If Sariandi notices the cold reception—which he most certainly does—he chooses to ignore it as he steps closer. “I’ve missed you.” To most his voice is charming, they know. It was to them as well, long ago; now it sounds off, with an oily quality that makes them inwardly recoil.

Even the overwhelming scent of saffron cannot hide the underlying metallic smell of blood that clings to his skin.

“Mmm,” Is their noncommittal response.

“I believe this is the part where we exchange bland and arbitrary comments on the weather and family,” Sariandi replies, “What do the mortals call it? Small talk?”

“The weather is as it always has been,” Melarue drawls, “And you have no family for me to ask about. I believe that covers everything.”

Sariandi laughs. An oddly warm sound for so cold a man. They catch a glimpse of it again, the part of him they’d been drawn to all those centuries ago. Buried deep, and so corrupted that it isn’t salvageable.

They’d tried once, to spectacularly disastrous results.

“One of my servants was telling me of a deal they struck a few years back,” Sariandi smiles, reaching forward to brush a lock of hair behind Melarue’s ear, “An old dwarven woman asked for a boon so severe, she needed to give something she valued most of all in return. Do you know what she gave?”

“I know what I will take from  _you_  if you do not remove your hand, Sariandi.”

“The eye from her granddaughter. Her heir, the one she loved above all else. It reminded me of us.” He sighs, and there is a manic fondness in his gaze, as he presses a nail just under their eye, “Do you remember what it felt like?”

Melarue freezes his hand solid with a wave of their own.

He laughs again as he steps back. Ice shatters, and shards fall to the ground, melting into steam in an instant. His fingers have already begun to blacken with frostbite, and he clucks his tongue. “What a temper, I’d nearly forgotten.”

“I’d advise you not to forget again.” Melarue warns.

“Oh I won’t,” Sariandi agrees, holding their gaze. “You’re not an easy person to forget, Melarue.”

An odd coldness settles in their chest, and refuses to leave for the rest of the meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

Selene feels the first whisper while she is out with Des.

 

Her steps falter as she glances over her shoulder to discern who could be calling her. They are out for lunch in the center district, a normal occurrence for the pair when there's no pressing business to deal with. It is often easy to find deals and scraps in the cities shadows to help with their own discrepancies.

  
“. _..lene._ ” someone whispers, like a breath barely passing past parted lips.

 

But no ones mouth moves. Everyone else caught up in their own dealings and errands and paying her no attention.

 

Des's fingers snap twice in front of her face “You alright?”

 

Selene nods, slowly. “I thought I heard...I don't know. Something.”

 

“I didn't hear anything. You've been working too hard, darling.”

 

“Yeah, maybe...”She muses, while Des links his arm through hers and continues their stroll together.

 

The next whisper comes the next day, while Selene is just rising from her bed.

 

“ _Selene..._ ” a groan, this time. Deep, and guttural enough to make heat rise within her at the implications.

 

There is no one else around, though. She had picked this lot specifically because of the privacy it afforded her. Rich soil, with a location near enough to a magma pit that most others can't handle the heat for an extended period of time.

 

But...she definitely heard _something_.

 

She waits, tense, sheets tight in her grip.

No other sound comes. No rustling footsteps or shifting soil.

She relaxes, and begins to get ready for her day.

 

–

She catches it early, the third time. A solid stream of thought focused on her being as her name is whispered once again. This time, she follows the trail. Up and up, out into the surface until she finds herself in a familiar room.

With Dirthamen, eyes closed, back tight and his hand wrapped around himself beneath the sheets.

 

_That certainly explains a few things_ , she thinks smugly from where she is still hidden by enchanted shadows.

Should she leave? Afford him his privacy and keep the information tucked away somewhere?

He shudders, as he strokes himself once again. Slow, light. Teasing.

 

Well...he _did_ invite her, she supposes. It would be rude to leave.

 

Instead, she moves, glamour still heavy on her skin until she is lounging between his spread legs on his bed. Over the sheets of course, she wouldn't want to overstep the given boundaries. She watches him for a moment, wonders what is going through his mind each time his hand stops its movements. Wonders if he's perhaps gotten bored halfway through, or if he's been suddenly reminded of some other responsibility he's neglected to take care of his needs.   
Wonders if perhaps he's rethinking his subject material.

 

But he continues on, slow and quiet until his back begins to arch and he calls her name again. “ _Selene..._ ” he moans, so close, so very, very close.

 

“You called?” She purrs, dropping her cloaking glamour and revealing her place on his bed.

 

He startles, falling backwards and away from the edge he had been so carefully straddling a moment before, hand still tight around his shaft.

 

“Selene-” he says, a very different sort of tone than the one used moments before. Much less wistful, so much less desire and pleading in voice. Too much guilt for her taste, really. “This is not...”

 

“It's exactly what it looks like,” she grins “I don't mind. You summoned me, after all. I'll accept the entertainment as payment.”

 

“I..did not mean to summon you.”

 

“You were focused rather hard on me, for an accident. It's not even the first time you called. Only the first time I came. Well...the first time I came before _you_ did, it seems.”

 

His face turns a deep red, one hand still underneath his blanket. Frozen, unsure of what to do with it now. Selene hums, tail swaying playfully from one side to another behind her. Her hand moves slowly up his leg, over the shape of his inner thigh, and she wonders just how far he'll let her take this game.

Could be interesting...

 

“You're not going to stop, are you?” she asks “You called me here for a show, and the show _must_ go on. Don't you agree?”

 

“You're...not offended?”

 

“That you find me sexually attractive? No. Should I be?”

 

He doesn't answer, just swallows as she crawls slightly closer to him on the bed, and fits her hand over where his own rests beneath the sheets.

 

“So...” she purrs “Where were you?”

 

He relaxes, slightly, as she pulls her hand away and settles back onto his bed to watch. It doesn't take him long to get lost in his fantasy once again, hand making slow, sure strokes while he groans and shifts. She can certainly see the appeal that Des has been crooning about for so long. Her interactions with Dirthamen, with everyone, have been professional. Softer with him, though. Lingering longer on conversations than she would with the others, making sure his deals are a bit more even, or even beneficial if she can extract more from her other clients.

Has she gone soft?

There certainly doesn't seem to be much softness in this now.

Sharp, edged desires radiate from him as he pulls and tugs at something deep inside. Still restrained, still tightly wound, but hyper focused.

On his touch.

On his thoughts.

On her.

 

She crawls towards him again, nail scraping against the side of his jaw until he is looking at her. Flushed, his pupils wide and dark as his hips thrust up beneath her.

“Would you like my help?” She offers, before she can think better of it.

He pauses.

Swallows.

And then nods, hesitancy overtaken with eagerness.

 

She lets her hand wander, then. One drifting over his legs, his thighs, his groin, while the other peels away the comforter. Revealing pale, tender flesh beneath.

Soft.

 

She places a kiss to his collar bone, almost reflexively. Traces a line down his neck, feels his pulse beat, beat, beating beneath her lips. Places a kiss over his heart, as her hand moves to cover his own. Warm, slick, soft.

 

“I said I'd help,” she murmurs, moving back up his body until her mouth is tracing the shell of his ear. “Not that I'd do it all for you.”

 

He hesitates, but nods as his hand begins to move again, beneath her own. She nips at his earlobe, shivers when he groans. His hips arch up, and his thigh rises from where it was resting between her own legs. Selene lets out a soft gasp at the contact and can feel him almost come then and there. A tight squeeze to the base, to hold him off just a bit longer.

She shifts, adjusting until she is perched behind him. His body between her legs, her head resting on his shoulder to watch while her hands trace patterns into his hips and his breathing gets heavier. Her index finger traces a light swirl around his leaking head and he tries to push into it, to take more from her, but she holds him against her with the other hand. Keeps him from taking more than she is offering.

They continue for almost an hour. Selene keeping him pressed against her and on the edge until he is begging, and groaning, and out of clever words to use. Until her fingers are damp, and sticky and he is staring at her now, no more fantasies, no more imagining. She'll ensure the real thing is always better.

He begs again, pleads with her to let him come, please, _please_ , let him come. She smiles, lips pressed briefly to his cheek before she whispers to him “Say my name.”

 

“ _Selene,_ ” he groans, head thrown back “Selene, Selene, _please-”_

 

It doesn't take much. Just a small jolt of magic to course through him, to light him up, to show him what it _could_ feel like.

He screams in ecstasy as he comes, pressed entirely back into her, eyes shut tight as his orgasm courses through his whole body, nerves alight and tingling with her magic before she pulls it back and he falls back against her. Spent, sated.

Soft.

 

Her lips drift gently across his temple as he tries to catch his breath.

“What...what did you do?”

“Just a small bit of magic, to make it a tad more intense,” she hums. “It suited you, you know.”

 

She thinks he would probably have more to say on the matter if his blood supply was more readily available to the communication portion of his brain right now. But instead he is soft, and warm, and pliant in her arms.

She almost doesn't want to leave.

Troublesome.

 

So instead, she forces herself up and out of his bed, straightening her clothes that had shifted with his squirming. A bit sweat drenched, now.

Well.

_Mostly_ sweat, she assumes. She'll have to change when she gets home.

 

“I'll take the show as payment for my summoning,” she informs him “But you'll owe me for the assistance.”

 

Dirthamen nods, taking a large drink from the water bottle on the table beside his bed. “Will you tell me what I owe you?”

 

Selene grins, before vanishing out of sight. “Maybe later.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Dirthamen carefully lights the candle arrangement in the middle of his small, personal dining room table, and then steps back, and eyes the setup carefully. The table is neatly arranged, matching most of the patterns he was able to obtain from several images on Pinterest. The light spilling in through the window is just beginning to blush with sunset. The array of food items he was able to acquire from the restaurant down the street are still warm, and hopefully varied enough to accommodate for his date’s unknown tastes. They have eaten together before, of course, but Selene has largely just consumed whatever items Dirthamen was having at the time. He has not yet endeavoured to appeal to her tastes in specific. Variety seemed the likeliest bet for yielding positive results.

With a deep breath, Dirthamen sets the poem he wrote down beside Selene’s plate, and then clears his throat.

“Selene?” he asks.

Silence.

Dirthamen reconsiders, and straightens his shoulders. Focusing his intent on his mental image of the beautiful demon. Soft hair. Bright eyes. High cheekbones. Long legs. A certain sharpness, that would be easy to find intimidating, but that belies what has been a great deal of courtesy in their interactions so far.

“Selene?” he tries again, clearing his throat. “I wonder if you might like to come over?”

He would prefer not to use the invocation, he thinks. This is an invitation; not a demand. And in that light, perhaps if there is no answer, he will simply have to eat by himself. He considers the merits of a third try, when a familiar spark of light flares in the corner of his vision.

Dirthamen clears his throat, and turns.

Selene has arrived. Clad in a simple black dress, that stops mid-thigh, with her tail swishing around her ankles, and a few stray motes of flame drifting around her horns. There is a bruise on her upper arm. It begins fading almost as soon as Dirthamen notices it. And her expression, for a moment, is relieved. Before slides towards the more canny, assessing gaze he is accustomed to.

“You called?” Selene asks, looking towards the table.

Her lips twitch downwards. Her tail flicks, in a gesture that reminds Dirthamen of unhappy cats.

“I did,” he confirms. “I wondered if you would join me for dinner?”

Selene raises her eyebrows.

“Did your date cancel?” she wonders, a little sharply.

He blinks.

“I have only just asked if you would join me,” he points out. “You cannot cancel, we have no standing arrangement. But if you choose to leave, I will not take offense.”

It is Selene’s turn to blink, at that. Her gaze roves over the assembled dishes. Though she has told him that demons do not eat for sustenance, he cannot help but think that her countenance appears… hungry. Or perhaps merely interested? He is not good at judging such things.

“You set this all out for dinner with  _me?”_  she checks.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation.

“It is my night off,” he explains.

Selene seems skeptical. Her gaze flits over him, and Dirthamen recollects her visit to him while he was in the midst of masturbating. Though, he supposes, it had not qualified as masturbation for much longer after that. He feels his heartrate increase a little, and has to look away from her, to avoid an inappropriate reaction. So he stares at the food instead.

“I could acquire different dishes, if these are unsuitable,” he offers. The restaurant owner is relatively familiar with him. He gets take away from there fairly often. She had seemed very pleased when Dirthamen explained that he needed a selection of dishes for entertaining a personal guest. The cost of the meal was much higher than usual, of course, and the number of heart-shaped objects had increased exponentially. But the chef had seemed confident that this would go over well, especially once Dirthamen assured her that Selene had no food allergies.

He hopes he was correct, on that.

“These seem… fine,” Selene offers, after a moment.

Dirthamen nods, and then, in what he hopes to be a polite gesture, pulls out her seat.

Selene slides into the chair with only a moment’s more delay, and once again, looks over the dishes. Her gaze pauses on the wine, and she pulls it out of the ice bucket Dirthamen had set it into. And then she notes the poem, and puts it back again, in favour of plucking up the simple sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” she asks.

Drithamen clears his throat.

“Sentiments seem to be important currency for you,” he says. “I am not good at writing letters. But I was not certain if a poem would suffice. It is… an attempt.”

Selene raises an eyebrow.

“Trying to pay off your debt?” she surmises.

He inclines his head.

“In part,” he says. “Though, as you did not request a poem, I would not presume that it is qualified payment. You may keep it, either way.”

Selene purses her lips, and then begins to read. Dirthamen wonders if she is aware of the way that her eyes gleam when she does so. It is very faint. Just a light glow that appears around the edges of her pupils, and highlights the complexity of colours in her irises.

It is a very pretty effect. And also slightly intimidating.

Her lips move a little bit, too.

When she has finished, there is a bit more colour in her face. She shifts in her seat, and looks over at him. And then she nods, and snaps her fingers. The paper vanishes. Dirthamen does not think it has been destroyed, although there is a faint whiff of smoke. Fire seems to accompany most of Selene’s demonic gestures, whether they are benevolent or not.

“That was… acceptable,” she deems.

He inclines his head, and feels a moment of relief. He was beginning to worry that nothing he produced would be sufficient currency for their exchanges.

“I am glad,” he confesses.

Selene nods again, and shifts in her seat again. And then she goes back to the wine, and frowns at it. Dirthamen hesitates, again.

“Is it unacceptable?” he wonders.

The question earns him a surprised blink, and a shake of Selene’s head.

“No,” she says. “It’s just… it’s important? I wouldn’t have thought a vintage of wine would be important to you.”

Ah.

Dirthamen nods in comprehension.

“My mother made her early fortune through her family’s vineyards,” he explains. “When I was very young, she still owned them. I used to spend summers there. It was… peaceful.” He lets out a breath, and then shakes his head a little. “The vineyards ceased to be a lucrative venture by the time I was in highschool, however. They were destroyed for insurance purposes. Several vintages remain in my possession, but their number is very finite.”

Selene opens her mouth, and closes it again. And a thought occurs to Dirthamen.

“Would they be suitable currency? For our interactions?” he wonders. He points at the bottle. “You may keep it, if you would prefer…”

He feels a slight pang. He always attempts to be judicious in his use of wine, to savour it when he opens a bottle from his family’s vineyards. But, they would never last indefinitely, either. They are precious, and limited; meant to be consumed, destined to come to an end. Part of him often thinks he should simply keep them forever. He has seen too many disappear in his brother’s hands to think that they truly would last, however. And sometimes he resents that. Just a little. Falon’Din has as much right to the wine as he does – and his brother is quick to remind him of that – but…

Sometimes Dirthamen does not  _feel_  as if he does.

Selene’s grip tightens on the neck of the bottle, just a little. And then she frowns, and opens it.

Dirthamen blinks.

For a moment, Selene seems just as surprised by her actions.

Then she clears her throat, and snatches up his glass.

“We can drink this one,” she decides. “I’ll consider the matter further.”

Dirthamen nods, and tentatively accepts his own glass, when she pushes it back towards him. He savours it, enjoying the bouquet for a moment, before taking his first sip. Selene drinks hers more directly. She closes her eyes after her first mouthful, however, and tips her head to one side. And then she sighs.

The light falls on her.

She looks nothing like an elf, and yet, very like a regular person, for a moment. It makes him feel warm.

They turn to the food without further comment on the wine, however. Selene picks through the dishes, and tastes a little bit of each of them. More open curiosity showing on her face, bit by bit. She seems to like most things, though her lips curl up at her first taste of the soup, and she puts it aside without further experimentation. Every so often she stops to take another sip of the wine, and though the alcohol content is not high, ever taste seems to relax her more. Her shoulders ease, and her smiles come more readily; and something in the air around her hums, just a little bit.

Like it is an indulgence.

Dirthamen wonders if demons get so busy bartering goods that they neglect to really enjoy them. He understands that. The therapist his mother fired when he was twelve often mentioned that he was over-worked.

He considers asking. But then he wonders if the question might not break the quiet peace that has settled over the table, and it seems like a kind of peace which Selene is enjoying. So he sets it aside for another time, and instead asks her about the dishes she is sampling. Compiling an internal list of what she seems to enjoy the most, and why. It will be useful for guessing about her tastes in future.

Dirthamen eats most of the soup.

Selene is polishing off the dessert when he feels something wrap around his leg. A glance downwards confirms that it is her tail. Dirthamen is not certain if Selene is entirely aware of its activities, as it migrates slowly up his calf. Not until she glances at him and winks, and the hold on him tightens, a little bit.

“I suppose-“ she begins.

But she does not completely her sentence. Instead she stops. Her brows twitch, and an expression that Dirthamen would place as ‘annoyance’ flits across her features; and then she is gone. Barely a flash of firelight lingers in the air for a moment. Her tail vanishes from its place around his leg, and the air in the room cools, for a moment.

Dirthamen blinks, and waits.

And waits.

After the last of the soup has gone cold, he can only conclude that she had something important to do.

He hopes she enjoyed their dinner, regardless, and that he did not offend her without noticing. And that she is not being hurt. His brow furrows, as he contemplates whether or not he should summon her back. But she had not seemed distress.

Maybe next time, he will ask her preferences for such things.

He gets up, and sets about clearing away the dishes.


	6. Chapter 6

For a ruler of hell, Lord Blanche is often not as cruel as she could be. She is very good at keeping her district in balance, and most days, life in district three could even be downright pleasant if you keep your nose clean and your books balanced. 

But her moods are always something to be wary of.

 

Her district boasts the largest selection of entertainment, the largest stadiums for events and fights, and if you fall too heavily in debt, the strong can even win their way back to Blanche’s good graces by fighting their way through the arena.

It is not a common occurrence. Most die of trauma or exhaustion before they are able to complete the competition. 

  
Still, it is enough hope for many to cling to, when Harellas comes around to collect. But the trials are for the average citizen. For those who Blanche has never taken a particular interest in.

Selene is not one of those lucky people.

 

Despite her best attempts at keeping her privacy, she has been considered a ‘favored’ of Blanches for several decades now. Not to the same extent as Des, who has been a regular consort for centuries upon centuries, though. She enjoys his tastes and his willingness to indulge in whatever entertainment she puts before or asks of him, and Des enjoys the perks that come with being a part of their lords inner circle. The mansion, the freedoms, the decadence.

Selene is less excited when she is called upon to join.

Dressed in a deep purple over bust corset with lace trim and accents of gold, a pair of similarly purple shorts that only just cover the curve of her ass while still permitting her tail freedom to move, and a matching set of stilettos, she is brought to Blanche’s most used entertainment room. Several other demons roam the room, dressed in similar color schemes as they converse and gossip.

Blanche herself is lounged sideways on one of her many thrones, long thin fingers weighed down with over sized rings laden with jewels. Des sits to one side of her, tail swishing playfully behind him as his head rests beside Blanches, likely spinning a story while she grins and laughs along with him.

“Selene dear, there you are,” she coos “I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you had decided not to grace us with your presence after all.”

“I would never deny you your pleasures, my Lady.” Selene assures, with a courteous bow. Blanche’s grin widens, pleased as always with her response, and gestures to the empty seat on her left side.

“So wise for one so young,” she commends as Selene takes the offered seat, golden cushions pushing against each side of her. “You’ll be climbing your way through my ranks in no time my dear.”

Selene gives a soft thanks, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Blanche’s comment. She has little interest in climbing the ranks here. The ladder is bloody, and too often made from leaving a pile of others to rot in your wake for the sake of providing the most amusing path for Blanche to watch.

Entertainment is king, in the end.

 

Blanche shifts in her throne so that she is now laid out on her stomach, patting an empty space on her arm rest for Des to move to before her fingers begin to play through Selenes curls. Des continues his story without missing a beat, and Selene readjusts her own position in an effort to keep Blanche from tugging quite so roughly on her hair, but to no avail. Rings catch in strands, yanking and pulling until her scalp aches and Des’s story has ended and Blanche has grown bored of this particular show. She dismisses the dancers who had been performing on the main floor and laces her fingers through Selenes.

“I heard you put on quite a show for my Harellas, not so long ago,” She purrs “Fought off a whole swarm of gibbering horrors. Lots of your lovely flames and flesh thrown around, I understand.”

“Yes, my lady,” Selene acknowledges, swallowing the lump in her throat at the memory.

“And I missed it!” Blanche gasps, swooning dramatically while Des pretends to fan her with a piece of silk. “The damned prices I pay for my position, really. I do  _so_  love watching you fight. Do you think you could put on another show for me now, perhaps?”

Selene hesitates.

“I would not wish to completely eradicate your horde of horrors, Lady Blanche.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could whip up something else for you to fight my dear,” she says, face splitting into a chilling grin “No worries, no worries!”

 

She ushers Selene out of her chair and into the center of the room, and calls two of the guards to join her within the painted circle.

 

“Ground rules,” she announces, as the room stills to gather around the makeshift arena “Weapons are allowed, but you must have them on you already. No tag-ins, no time-outs, fighting dirty is encouraged, because we are here for a  _show_  after all! So  _ **please**_  remember to go out in a blaze of glory and all that so that this is not a waste of time. Only the last one living will be permitted out and deemed the winner,” she pauses, as her fully armored guards draw their swords and assume their usual starting stance. Selene resists the urge to point out just how rigged this seems since she is unarmed and wearing lingerie and they should  _really_  be above this sort of pandering by now. 

“Ready? ** _Begin_**!”

 

The moment Blanche declares the fight has started, both guards charge towards Selene. She quickly raises a barrier, sending them skidding back. One drops his sword ( _A new recruit_ , she realizes bitterly), and Selene takes advantage to knock it out of the ring. As the guard reaches across the painted circle in an effort to retrieve it, his hand vanishes, leaving only a clean cut as blood spurts from his wrist and he screams in terror.

“No breaking the rules,” Blanche reminds them from her throne. “They should have covered that in your training.”

Selene isn’t sure if the guard hears her or not,too caught up in the sudden loss of his hand she thinks, to notice the other guard come up behind him, striking him clean through the ribs and his armor before ripping the sword back out. She can hear him whisper a quiet apology as the younger guard falls to the ground, lifeless, head vanishing the way his hand had as it falls outside of the boundary.

“Oooh, gruesome!” Blanche giggles, high and thin as she leans forward to watch the two remaining contenders.

The guardsman turns to face Selene, blade still gleaming with the blood of the fallen recruit. She readies a fireball, and he charges towards her again, ready for her barrier. He casts, using the others blood as an offering as the sword cuts cleanly through her barrier and nearly through her own stomach. She dodges, barely, pushing the flames into the mans face as he screams out in agony. His blade drops as his hands shoot up to reflexively cover his eyes, and she kicks it out of the circle before elbowing him between the shoulder blades. 

He falls to the ground, but manages to snag one of the decorative chains on her corset, dragging her down to the ground beside him. 

Selene yelps as her knee makes impact with the hard ground, and attempts to pull herself from his grip. 

No luck though, his fist tight around the golden string. Unwilling to let her go now that he has been blinded.  
 _Smart_ , she thinks.

She yanks his helmet off, tossing it out of the ring as her other hand balls up and makes contact with his cheek. Scales, hard and sharp dig into her skin slicing up the soft skin of her knuckles as she hits him over and over and over again. He manages to find an opening in her attacks, flipping so that she is laid on her back, horns just remaining within the boundaries as his hands move up her body and come to rest on her throat, claws tearing through the ribbon around her neck as he tries to force the air out of her body.

Selene can feel herself getting light headed as he pushes on her jugular vein. 

A last ditch effort, a regret for another day, she reaches to place her hand firmly over his face before igniting them both. He screams, and that is his undoing in the end, as her flames scurry down his throat and into his lungs, searing everything in their path on the way down. He collapses atop her, dead and burning, but his grip finally loosens to allow her to sit up and shove the corpse off of herself. 

 

  
The room erupts into applause, Des whistling from his space beside Blanche, who is staring down at Selene with a dangerously pleased look on her face. 

The boundaries vanish, and Selene strides back to her chair, chin high as she attempts to cover the exhaustion she feels from the adrenaline loss. Still, she takes her seat, crossing one leg over the other and making sure to look, for all the world, as though she could do this all day without breaking a sweat.

  
Blanch takes her chin in her hand, turning Selene to face her. “That was wonderful,” she commends, finger moving down to scrape her nail over the scar covering much of Selene’s neck. “Blood and smoke is a good look on you.”

Selene leans forward, knowing better than to say anything other than 'thank you’ and to play into the part that Blanche wants of her right now. She intends to play coy, to flirt and listen and watch the remaining entertainers until Blanche decides who in particular she’d like to take to her chambers for a few more hours. 

  
But a familiar tugging sensation is in the back of her head.

  
_“Selene,”_  she hears, and mentally curses.

  
Not now. Why did he have to do this _now_?

 

“Something bothering you dear?” Blanche coos, etching her nails into the various subtle grooves of Selenes horns.

“Just a surface dweller,” she evades. “Nothing of consequence.”

_“Selene,”_  she hears again. 

More potent this time, more pressing, and there is nothing she can do to stop Blanche from reaching forward and wrapping one of her long bony fingers through the invisible thread, turning it into a deep blood red crossing through the air.

 

“Well well well,” she says, finally standing as she pulls the thread taut in front of her face “What have we here?”

“It is nothing,” Selene attempts, but Blanche just raises a single unamused eyebrow her way.

“You are capable of far better lies than that. Do not _insult_  me.” Blanche snaps.

 

Selene stays silent, this time.

 

“Interesting….”Blanche murmurs as she further inspects the object “It seems to go both ways…Are they important to you?”

“No,” Selene asserts immediately. “He has an infatuation, and I have been using him as a resource. That’s all.”

“Liar liar,” Blanche teases, dangling the thread in front of Selene “Threads don’t lie dear. Although, if you think it’s some sort of mistake, I suppose I could do the favor of  _cutting_  it for you-”

“No!” Selene responds, with far more emphasis than she meant to show.

 

Blanche looks back at Selene, nose raised as she sneers down at her “See that your little pet learns the proper way to deal with our kind, then. Or I may deign to inform them myself. And my instructions do  _not_  come cheap.”

 

Selene swallows and nods, giving a deep bow to her Lord Blanche before following the thread up to the surface, where Dirthamen is waiting. 

Nervously shuffling in his living room once more, food set out on his table in a way that has become almost customary for the two of them, by now.

 

All thoughts of eating seem to flee his head as he turns to see her though.

“You are injured.” he observes.

Selene lets out a sigh. “Dirthamen…” she begins, as he ushers her carefully over to his couch.  
He asks her to sit, and she does so without argument before he disappears into his bedroom, returning with a small first aid kit.

  
She feels compelled to remind him that she could heal herself, but the words stay stuck in her throat as he carefully cleans her wounds. First her knee, then her knuckles. Soft balls of cotton just grazing over her wounds, damp with polysporin. He remains focused on cleaning them, thoroughly, gently.

It’s hard not to be entranced by his touch, when he does things like this.  
But Blanches warning still rings fresh in her mind, and as his gaze raises to the scar on her throat, eyes widening, she carefully bumps her forehead against his.  
“Dirthamen,” she begins again. “You can’t keep doing this.”

 

He blinks, before his eyebrows scrunch together. “Does our medicine not work on demons? I did not mean to harm you further.”

“No, the medicine is fine. But this…summoning me without using the sigil. It’s not the way things are done.”

“I did not wish to summon you without your consent.”

Selene lets out a breath. “I understand. But…”she hesitates. Tries to figure out a way to explain things without giving away the information that she has, perhaps, begun to care for him in a less than professional way. “You can not pray to demons.” she settles on.

 

 

His eyebrows scrunch a bit more, but he nods, slowly. As though agreeing because he knows its the correct answer, but not because he’s worked out precisely  _why_  it is correct.

 

“You worry that I might want to be somewhere else instead from what I’ve gathered, yes?” she asks. 

Dirthamen nods in agreement so she presses on. “I live in hell, Dirthamen. That’s not a metaphor. I would  _always_  rather be here. But I need you to use the sigil when you want to summon me, or else…or else we’re both going to be in serious trouble, and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pull us out of it. Do you understand?”

 

He nods this time, understanding, and Selene lets out a breath of relief. 

Dirthamen carefully reaches to pull her hands into his, wrapping gauze tenderly around her wounds until he seems satisfied she won’t be susceptible to infection. 

He hesitates as he reaches her knee, and she smirks, just slightly as she straightens out her leg for him. He wraps her knee as gently as he had her hands, his eyes occasionally sliding down to the heels still heavy on her feet as his face darkens with a blush. She grins as he finishes, legs wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him just close enough to startle him back into the moment and out of his reverie.

“Something on your mind?” She teases.

“Your outfit is…different.”

“I was dressed to someone else’s tastes,” she shrugs. “Do they match your own?”

“They are not what I would have chosen, no.”

Selene opts to not analyze the relief she feels at that too closely.

 

  
Instead she leans forward, her lips only a breath away from his own.

“What did you call me here for, Dirthamen?”

“I thought you might like to join me for dinner,” he says, indicating towards the table once with his head “And also, I bought you a gift. Although, perhaps now it would be…troublesome.”

Selene blinks, straightening. “You bought me something?”

“Yes. But you are not required to accept it, if it will cause you trouble.”

Selenes nails tap carefully against the cushions of his couch. “May I see it?”

 

He nods, standing and heading back into his bedroom. Curious, Selene thinks. What sort of thing could he have gotten her? The letter perhaps, finally? That would not be a  _gift_  though. Not jewelry, certainly. He knows she would be more likely to trade it away than to keep it herself.

She’s not sure she’s ever actually  _gotten_  a gift before. Not without strings and fees attached.

 

 

He returns with a small cardboard box in his hands, sitting down beside her on the couch and passing it to her.

“It is already registered and charged,” he explains, as she curiously opens the container. “All you have to do is turn it on, and load in your own preferences.”

 

Selene freezes as she opens the box.

It is a phone.

A  _brand new_ cell phone.

 

 

“I suppose it is possible that they do not have service where you live, however. Perhaps-”

“It’s perfect.” She interrupts, before he can talk himself out of giving it to her.  
Electronics are  _very_  hard to come by, in hell. Too many opportunities for corruption or poor deals via the internet, or code disturbances. Too many ways to break through a firewall, or find loopholes in programming, so they require special clearance. Only the top ranked demons are permitted them, usually.

But Harellas still owes her a favor.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, turning the device over in her hands. Light, and clean, and  _new_.

“You are very welcome,” he smiles, pleased that she likes his gift. “I thought, perhaps, this could allow us to converse more easily. If that is an idea that appeals to you. You seem to enjoy our conversations while you are here.”

“I do. Thank you, Dirthamen. Sincerely. I…will find a way to pay you back for this.”

“It is a gift,” he assures her. “The only thing I ask for in return, is that you might perhaps text me when you would like to meet. Or speak. Or…”

“I will text you often,” she promises. “Maybe even make a few dirty phone calls, if you’re interested.”

 

He blushes again, the tips of his ears a lovely shade of pink as she moves in closer to him, tail wrapping around one of his legs. “I…if you wanted to, I would not be opposed.” he admits.

 

Selene smiles, crawling towards him, tail moving his leg until he is flat on his back on the couch and she is over him, hair dangling beside his face while her fingers work on unbuttoning his shirt. “I would be glad to show you just how unopposed I am, if you’re up for it.”

He swallows and gives her a yes before her mouth claims his own, pressing him back into the plush cushions and exposing the bare skin of his chest. He eagerly returns the kiss, body arching up towards her touch. 

They shift, and readjust, pulling away from the kiss as needed until Selene is the one beneath Dirthamen, his hands carefully, delicately tracing over her body.  
  
She shivers beneath his fingers, as they brush her skin, the lace of the bodice. She inhales sharply as they reach the scar on her neck, still bruised from her earlier fight and a weak spot she tries to keep hidden. But her ribbon was left behind, still in the ring and likely re-purposed by now. 

 

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” she admits.

 

Dirthamens fingers brush over it once more before his lips follow, gently tracing the lines of re-grafted skin. A scar left purposely, as a reminder for past mistakes that she will not repeat.

But beneath the soft sigh of his breaths, it aches less. Her body tingles, unsure of what to do with the affection radiating from him. Her arms wrap awkwardly around his shoulders, pulling him close to her.

_Are they important to you?_ She hears again. 

She sighs as he sits up, his hands carefully caressing her horns as her eyes close and she settles into him. 

Another night of soft touches, of warm affection, and closeness she shouldn’t permit is coming, she knows. He is always less inclined to agree to sexual activities when she shows up injured, no matter how clearly aroused he becomes. 

Not that they’ve had many, aside from her assistance the first time he summoned her without a sigil. But she misses it less than she thought she might. 

  
He  _has_  become important to her. More than is safe, really. 

Others might seek him out, attempt to use him as leverage against her. She knows this, knows that what they are doing is unwise. 

But he is so soft, and gentle, and  _kind_  to her in ways she has never known, that it seems worth the risk still. 

They shift again, and he calls for the next episode of a show they have been allowing to play in the background while their dinners settled lately begins.

  
It is not quite heaven, she knows.

But it is as close as she has ever known. She will do what she must to protect it.


	7. Chapter 7

Blanche has always been a fan of  _enthusiasm_.

It is why Des has always done so well in her circles, and what has always held Selene back.

She will play the part, and ensure Blanche is entertained, but she has never been gifted at hiding her disdain for the rampant gore and sex and torture.

But now there is another factor to consider.

Blanche had made it clear; Dirthamen is not to be a priority over  _her_.

 

Selenes absence from several recent tournaments, parties, and orgies has not gone unnoticed. He has been using the sigil for summoning again, so at the very least Selene has an excuse. A proper summoning is not to be ignored, after all.

But it does not make Blanche any more understanding.

 

“You will be present at the next event,” She informs Selene. “You will bring wine and gifts to appease me, you will participate in the activities, and you will  _worship_  me after.”

 

Selene bows politely “Of course, my Lady.”

Blanche sneers and wraps her fist around her horns, yanking Selenes face to hers.

“And if you are summoned, you will inform the mortal that you have  _more important things to do_. You will take a price for the summoning large enough to compensate for leaving me, however briefly, and immediately return to my side, or I will pull you back down here myself.  _Do you understand?_ ”

 

Selene swallows, and nods.

 

Her horns are released, Blanches face returning to a spine chilling smile.

“Lovely. And do remember to  _enjoy_  yourself, dear. My presence is a gift, after all. You should be grateful for my attentions.”

“Of course my lady. I am positively enthused.”

* * *

Dirthamen stares at Selene where she stands in the summoning circle. She sighs, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. She had expected he would react poorly to her new appearance. Has spent the last week avoiding his unofficial summons and trying to push his presence out of her mind, in hopes of postponing this interaction.

“Who did this to you?” he finally breathes.

 

“Blanche.” she says with a shrug, trying to play it off as though it is nothing. As though her horns had not been ripped from her head, snapping and splitting bone while she screamed and cried and wished for true death in moments of clarity between the blinding pain. As though she does not spend each morning staring at her missing eye and the scar now covering half of her face where her Lady’s claws had raked it out of its socket and taken as much flesh and blood as she could fit in her fist along with it. It is a poor replacement she has managed so far; the shade of green is wrong, and the muscles around it are tender and bruised from the ill-fit of the glass.

 

“When?” He asks, stepping towards her, hand hovering an inch from the scarred skin; stuck between an impulse to help, and the worry that it might still be painful.

“After you called me last,” she admits. He swallows in guilt as she continues. “She was upset I had left in the middle of serving her, and took what she felt was proper payment.”

 

“She believed herself entitled to pieces of you, when you were following protocol?” he says, shoulders tightening in anger. As though he wishes to harm Blanche for harming  _her_. It would be laughable, if it didn’t pose such a real danger to him.

“No. She was entitled to your life. I made a counter offer.”

“Selene-”

“She has been after my horns for decades,” she dismisses, finally stepping outside of the circle. “She’s added some flowers and turned them into something resembling a crown, last I checked. The eye was a surprise, but easier to part with than my tongue.”

 

He swallows again. “I am…sorry. Words are likely inadequate, but-is there anything else I could give you?”

“The letter you still owe me would be helpful.”

“I…” he nods solemnly “I will work to finish it more quickly.”

 

Silence lingers between them. Awkward and uncomfortable in a way it normally isn’t here, but he keeps looking at her scars-not nearly so easily hidden as the one on her throat- and the serrated stubs where her horns once were. Selene strides over to his couch and tries to pretend nothing has changed. Tries to act as though she has not lost pieces of herself to keep him alive; a status that is temporary for mortals, anyways, and therefore a postponement at best.

 

He leaves the room, and she wonders if he regrets summoning her. If this will, perhaps, be their last encounter. She’s significantly less appealing to look at, and in the mortal world he would be considered quite a catch; maybe this will finally cause him to tire of her.

It’s a surprisingly unpleasant thought.

 

But he returns with a bottle of his family’s wine, and his medicinal kit, and a rather large blanket. He pops open the wine, letting it sit on the table for a moment to breathe as he continues whatever he seems to have planned. She raises a curious eyebrow as he carefully drapes the blanket over her shoulders and body, and opens the medical kit. Some small container with a qunari on the lid is opened. It smells like elfroot and aloe and antiseptic, and Dirthamen hesitates for only a moment before applying it to the remnants of her horns.

It warms on contact, and feels rather wonderful.

 

“Is it alright?” he asks, pausing at her groan

 

Selene nods, but grabs his wrist before he can continue. “Why are you doing this?”

“It is called horn balm, and I thought perhaps-”

“ _No_ ,” she stresses. “Why are you doing…all of this? Why are you looking after me? I am a  _demon_ , Dirthamen. I am not an elf, I am not a creature of kindness and light, and open skies. You should fear me, should want to be near me as little as possible. Instead you give me wine, and blankets, and medicine. I don’t…” she sighs. “I don’t understand.”

 

His shoulders drop slightly. Dirthamens face shifts, as he mentally shuffles through his thoughts, trying to find an adequate way to share them. “You have never given me reason to fear you,” he says. “You have shown me kindness, magic, pleasure, and love, and I wish to return it. Your people are all about balance, and I believe that is something to strive for.”

“I have never shown you  _love_.”

“You gave up pieces of yourself to save my life,” he points out. “If there is a surer sign of love, I am unfamiliar with it.”

 

Selene swallows, and he carefully continues applying the balm to her stubs in silence. Less awkward now, as they settle into a more familiar rhythm. Once he seems satisfied with the medicine, he pours each of them a glass of the wine and puts on a familiar movie. After a few minutes in, still slightly dazed from the warmth of the balm and the wine, she leans against him, fingers lacing through his.

He readjusts their position, one arm draping over her shoulder while she moves to lay against his chest so that the blanket covers them both., lacing his other hand with hers over her stomach. The television drones on, and the wine disappears while the stars remain high in the sky behind them.

His cologne fills her nostrils; subtle and sweet and familiar. Much more pleasing than the usual brimstone and ash near her home.

This is a fleeting love, she knows. She will have to return to her Lady, and her work, and her punishments in the morning.

But for the night, they are in love-and nothing can take that away.


End file.
